with that loser, right?
It’s pointless
to fixate on someone
I spent less than six hours with.
Even if that someone
seemed so nice and funny
and generous and—
No. No, no, no! I have got to get a grip!
Besides, I have more important things
to think about.
I have a mission to accomplish.
And there’s only four more days left
till Christmas Eve . . .
So I force myself
to stop obsessing about
He Who Shall Not Be Named.
I quit checking my phone
every couple of minutes.
And I turn my full attention
to Operation Red.
For the Next Few Days
We leave Pixel behind to hang with Sequoia
while we roam around Santa Monica, looking
for more ways to get something for nothing.
And as my deadline
for reuniting Red with her family
rushes at me like an angry bull—
three days till Christmas Eve,
then two days,
then one—
I try again and again
to sneak stealthy peeks
at her fake ID,
and to get her to reveal the name
of the city she lives in, or of her high school,
or her mom’s name,
or anything else
that might help me
accomplish my mission.
But she always seems to change the subject
or she pretends not to hear me
or she flat-out refuses
with a “No thanks. I better not.”
When I Wake Up
On the morning of Christmas Eve,
the awful truth slams into me
like a runaway train:
I’m no closer now
to getting Red home
than I was on the day we first met.
I’ve failed her and her family,
just like I failed my brother Noah
and my family.
I am a useless excuse for a daughter.
A useless excuse for a sister.
And for a human being.
Maybe that’s why Cristo dumped me.
He figured out just how utterly
good-for-nothing I am . . .
I want to pull
the covers up over my head
and hide from my life.
But Red’s waiting for me.
She’ll be worried
if I don’t show up.
So I force myself to get out of bed,
leave a note for my parents,
and trudge out the door with Pixel.
When We Get to Cristo’s
Red takes one look at me
and says, “Whoa . . . Your aura . . .
It’s so . . . Well, it’s really, really dark.”
She says I need to get into the holiday spirit
and that there’s gonna be a free screening
of It’s a Wonderful Life at the library
and that we
better get going
or we’ll miss the beginning.
I look over at Pixel,
chasing Sequoia around the lawn
in deliriously happy circles.
I’m in pretty bad shape today . . .
If I let him stay behind to play,
will I be okay?
Maybe It Would Be Better
to Bring Him with Us . . .
But when
I mention this possibility
to Red she says,
“Look at those two lovebirds.
The Duke thinks it would be animal cruelty
to make him come with us.”
“And what does Lana think?” I say.
“Lana thinks the stars are aligned,” Red says.
“And that you’ll be just fine without him.”
I guess Red’s right.
It would be cruel to make him leave.
And I probably will be fine . . .
So I take
a deep breath
and wave good-bye to Pixel.
And as we head out the gate,
Red calls back over her shoulder,
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
As Red and I Take Our Seats at the Library
She turns to me and says,
“When feeling down in the dumps, it helps
to dive in someone else’s dumpster for a while.”
And I have to admit that losing myself
in Jimmy Stewart’s problems
is a nice break from my own.
We grip the arms of our chairs
when he’s about to fling himself
off the bridge.
And we heave big sighs of relief when
the angel jumps off instead—tricking Jimmy
into saving him instead of committing suicide.
And when the film’s over
and we step outside,
there’s the most awesome sunset ever,
bursting across
the December sky
like fireworks.
Red gasps when she sees it
and wraps her arms around me.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“For what?” I say.
“For today,” she says.
“For all these days. For everything.”
And that’s
when I start crying.
I start crying and I can’t stop.
Red Searches My Face
She looks like she’s getting ready to cry too.
Then she takes hold of my hands
and says, “It’s 415-555-1728.”
I blink at her in confusion.
“What is?” I say.
“My mom’s phone number,” she says.
“That’s what you wanted, right? So you could
reunite us in time for the holidays or whatever.”
I’m too blown away to speak, so I just nod.
Red smiles at me and says,
“She’s just up the coast in San Francisco.
Maybe it can still happen.”
“But how . . . ,” I finally manage to say.
“How did you know?”
Red cocks her head to the side
in a way that makes me think of Pixel.
“You’ve only been trying to worm it
out of me ever since we first met.”
“I guess I should have
come right out and asked you.”
“Nah,” she says. “I wasn’t ready till now.
Lana says all signs are favorable now.”
“Then let’s do it!” I say,
reaching into my pocket for my phone.
But Red puts her hand over mine to stop me.
“Let’s go back to Cristo’s and call from there.
Things might get a little . . . emotional.
I’ll need my privacy.”
I hurry over to the rack
where we locked our bikes.
“Come on!” I say.
“What are we waiting for!”
As We Pedal Back to the House
Gliding past smiling plastic Santas,
through the candy-caned California
Christmas-Eved streets,
Red starts singing,
“Deck the halls with boughs of Molly,
fa la la la la la la la la!”
And I join in,
helping her come up
with more funny lyrics.
We cruise by grinning cardboard reindeer
and skinny-necked palms ringed with lights,
singing, “God Red Ye Merry Gentlemen.”
We’re laughing and whooping,
singing, “Duke You Hear What I Hear?”
and “Lana Claus Is Coming to Town,”
/> weaving our bicycles
and our voices together,
like two carefree strands of twinkling tinsel.
Then, just as we turn into Cristo’s alley,
Red starts crooning,
“O little town of Pixel-hem . . .”
And suddenly
I realize how much
I’ve been missing him.
And how I can hardly wait
to bury my face
in his infinite softness.
And it seems
as if my future looks
outrageously bright.
Until it doesn’t.
Because a Few Seconds Later
As we pedal
down the alley
toward the door
to Cristo’s backyard,
up ahead
I can see
that something
isn’t . . . right . . .
The heavy
wooden gate—
it’s open!
My Stomach Lurches
What if . . . ?
What if Pixel . . . ?
Oh my God . . .
Pixel!
Red and I
exchange a quick glance.
And I can see it in her eyes—
she’s thinking what I’m thinking.
We zoom up to the gate,
leap off our bikes,
and find a note from Cristo’s gardener
tacked onto the weathered wood:
CAME TO TRIM THE HEDGES. DIDN’T KNOW
ABOUT THE DOG. IT RAN OUT. COULDN’T
CATCH IT. LEFT THE GATE OPEN WHEN I TOOK
OFF AT 2PM IN CASE IT COMES BACK. REALLY SORRY!
I Steal Another Glance at Red
Her eyes
are so wild
that the sight of them sends a chill
through me.
We sprint into the yard,
shouting Pixel’s name.
But
it’s no use.
He’s
gone.
Just like
Cristo.
Just like
Noah.
Red and I Collapse into Each Other’s Arms
Sequoia saunters over
and rubs her chin against our ankles.
We pull apart and grip each other by the shoulders.
“Pixel could be anywhere by now!” Red says.
“You stay here and call the police,” I say.
“I’ll go knock on the neighbors’ doors.”
“No,” she says. “I’ll knock. You call.
The Duke says I shouldn’t talk to cops.”
She lifts her chin at me and tears out of the yard.
I bolt over to the gate, and as I watch her
running down the alley, I feel the cold fingers
of panic crawling up my spine.
I never should have let Red go.
What if she doesn’t come back?
What if I’ve lost her too?
What if I’ve lost them all?
But Then I Think of Pixel
And of what he’d be advising me to do
if he were here . . . So I take some deep breaths
and Google Santa Monica animal control.
I dial their number
and describe Pixel to the man who answers.
He says he hasn’t seen him.
He says I can call the shelter in the morning.
“But who can I speak to right now?” I ask,
trying to keep the wobble out of my voice.
He suggests I try the local animal hospitals.
He says if someone found him injured,
they might have brought him there.
An image of Pixel pops into my head—
his body torn and bleeding, a team of frantic
doctors working to put him back together . . .
I hang up the phone,
stagger into the bathroom,
and throw up.
I Rinse Out My Mouth
And stumble back
to the lounge chair.
Sequoia leaps into my lap, the warmth
of her body making me long for Pixel.
I stroke her velvety ears
as I call the Westside Pet Clinic.
And the Wilshire Animal Hospital.
And the Dog and Cat Hospital.
But the answer
is always the same:
Pixel
isn’t there.
Then Just as I Hang Up from the Last Call
The gate crashes open
and Red dashes through it.
Her face is as pale as the sliver of moon
that’s risen above the palms.
I rush over to her.
“No luck,” she says.
“Me neither,” I say.
We look into each other’s eyes for a second.
Then, without another word,
we grab our bikes
and race back out
into the alley.
We Careen Around the Block
And then
the next block,
and the next,
and the next.
The cardboard reindeer
and plastic Santas
seem threatening now,
their grins forced and ghoulish.
We search
every garden,
every sidewalk,
every shadowy bush,
shouting Pixel’s name
till our heads ache
and our throats sting
and our voices are just
useless hollow rasps.
Then
We hear a dog barking.
We slam on our brakes
and whip around.
But it’s just a terrier,
scowling at us through the slats
of a white picket fence.
All the air whooshes out of me.
and suddenly a fresh wave of misery
crashes over me,
hitting me
with such force
it leaves me gasping for air.
“We’ll never find Pixel,” I say.
“He’s gone. For good.”
Red’s eyes grow wide at this.
She starts yanking at fistfuls of her hair.
“That’s not what The Duke says.
He says we better get back to Cristo’s castle.
He says Pixel’s waiting for us there.
And Lana says he’s right.
He’s right!”
I know that The Duke and Lana aren’t real.
I know that they’re just a couple of voices
inside Red’s head.
So how come
I’m pedaling back
to Cristo’s right now—
like some kind of crazed speed demon?
The Whole Way There
Red keeps up a breathless
nonstop manic monologue:
“The Duke says
if we don’t get there soon
the elves might take him.
He says if the elves don’t take him
the leprechauns might.
Or the wolves.
Or the King’s Guard.
He says we should put some speed on it
if we fancy seeing Pixel alive.
But Lana says not to worry.
Lana says everything will be fine.
She says she saw a rabbit with eleven feet.
She says it’s been foretold.
She says the conditions
are highly favorable.
That the moon is in retrospect.
That Pluto is in the pantry.
That Mercury is in
the old thermometer . . .”
And in spite of
how totally out of it Red sounds,
I’m still ridiculously full of hope.
By the Time We’re Approaching Cristo’s Gate
I’ve convinced myself that we
’ll find Pixel
in the yard, playing with Sequoia.
He’ll stop when he sees us,
his eyes bright, his tail wagging,
and look at us, as innocent as anything,
like, “Where the heck have you guys been?”
But when we burst through the gate,
Sequoia’s alone, asleep on the lounge chair.
My fingers start tingling . . .
My stomach churns . . .
And suddenly I wish more than anything
that I was home in bed snuggling with Pixel . . .
Home . . .
I need to call home!
I mean, what was I thinking?
I should have done that ages ago.
Pixel probably only left here
to go looking for me—
and he probably figured
I went home!
Mom Doesn’t Answer Till the Zillionth Ring
And when I tell her Pixel’s missing
and ask her if she’s seen him,
she says, “Pixel . . . ? Isn’t he with you?”
I ignore her idiotic question
and ask her to check the yard.
She’s so spaced out it takes her forever.
And when she finally gets back on the line,
she says he isn’t there.
So I ask her to come help me look for him.
“Sorry, hon . . . ,” she says,
crunching on something that sounds like chips.
“Think I’m a little too stoned to drive . . .”
“What about Dad?”
“Him?” she says.
“At a meeting with a client . . .”
“Who works on Christmas Eve?” I say.
“Your father,” she says
with an empty little laugh.
“Can’t you Uber it over here, Mom?
Or take a bus? Or you could walk! I’m only
a couple of miles away—on Adelaide Drive.”
“Really wish I could,” she mumbles.
“Too wasted . . . Bad timing . . .
I’d be no use to you like this . . .”
My throat’s so tight I can barely speak.
“Oh well,” I manage to mutter.
“Thanks anyway.”
“Try your dad’s cell . . . ,” she says.
“And maybe later, when I’m not so out of it,
I can try to make some lost dog posters . . .”
I Don’t Even Bother Answering Her
I just hang up and punch in Dad’s number.
But my call goes straight to voice mail.